by Oliver Tidy
Acer thanked him and tucked it into the back of his trousers.
Tanner became solemn and serious once more. He took out and unfolded a large-scale map of their area, pointed to a spot and said, ‘This is where we’re going to part company. This is where you should return. The way this place has been bombed to hell, a map can really only be called a rough guide these days. I honestly have no idea how bad it is on the other side where you’re going. With more time, we could have told you more. The university is marked here and this is where we are.’ He used his finger to point out the two marks so there was no confusion.
‘We understand,’ said Acer. ‘Thanks for all you’ve done.’
Tanner said, ‘Any questions?’
Zeynep said, ‘When we come back, assuming it’s after dark, how do we avoid getting shot by you or whoever is waiting for us?’
Tanner smiled broadly. ‘Good question.’ He took a pair of hand-held radios out of his backpack. He said, ‘Take this one with you. As soon as you’re under cover over there, hide it. Hide it well. When you come back, get in touch. We’ll take it from there.’
Business concluded, they checked the time on their watches. Tanner shook hands with both of them and wished them luck. Then he led them to where they would be on their own. If he truly believed he wouldn’t be seeing either of them again, he didn’t act like it.
***
36
They were crossing well away from the notorious Bustan al-Qasr checkpoint that for a long time had facilitated limited and perilous travel for ordinary civilian Syrians needing to move between the rebel and regime-controlled districts of the city. Government snipers had regularly used that official crossing and others like it for target practice, firing indiscriminately at men, women and children without a thought for their allegiance in the conflict. That was now closed.
Where they were, the open ground between the opposing factions looked a touch under a hundred metres. The Queiq River, a grand-sounding name for something that was at present little more than a stream running between two concrete plinths, cut through the middle of the land. Tanner had said it was not deep if they needed to wade it, but probably there would be timbers or metal girders spanning it that they could use to cross, aids used by others to cross when they didn’t want to get their shoes wet. But they would need to be nimble on their feet – the regime snipers would be well rehearsed in shooting at those crossing points.
Their goal was a line of bombed-out, semi-destroyed buildings facing the open ground. Smoke still rose from a fire caused by the previous day’s shelling – a fire for which there was either no motivation or no point to extinguish. The smell of burning timber tainted the air. Behind those, Tanner had said, was a labyrinth of twisting, narrow streets and winding, blind alleys in which they would have their best chance of dodging pursuers and bullets. Or of running straight into them, depending on how their luck was holding.
Acer wasn’t thinking further than both of them making cover on the other side alive. His heart was working faster than normal, his skin tingled with an anxious sweat and his mouth was dry. He exchanged a look with Zeynep. She was pale with fear. Her eyes were wide and focussed. Her chest rose and fell quickly and rhythmically. She took a couple of deep breaths and nodded that she was ready. Acer took a pull on his water bottle and offered it to her. She shook her head. He sealed it and slipped it back in his small pack.
He led them at a stooped scuttle to a lump of wall. Peering out from a shell hole in it, he chose his path across the wasteland. He thought he could make out some planking spanning the Queiq but he couldn’t be sure. He took some deep breaths and turned to face Zeynep.
He said, ‘Remember what Tanner said about not bunching up, making a bigger target.’
‘Worried I’ll get you shot?’
‘I’d rather not. Worry about it or experience it, I mean. I didn’t ask: can you run?’
‘If my life is at stake, I can run. Maybe faster than you.’
‘Well don’t trip me up trying to get past to prove a point, will you? Let’s not make it easier for them. I’ve got a line in mind. You can either follow me, at a safe distance, or make your own way. I’m not going to tell you how to do this, Zeynep.’
Acer looked over at Tanner’s position. Tanner was looking back, rifle ready to return fire at any position they could ascertain held snipers.
Acer said, ‘OK. Here we go. First few yards should be quiet. Element of surprise and all that. Fingers crossed they might all be asleep, and if you believe in God say a quick one for me.’
Acer jumped over a jagged low part of the wall where it had been sheared off by incoming fire and sprinted across the road that led to the wide strip of grass that bordered the concrete shelf on his side of the Queiq River.
He had never felt so completely exposed. Every nerve, every muscle tensed for the slap of a high-velocity round into his flesh, the shattering of bone, being wrenched backwards by the momentum of the round like he was on elastic. He pumped his arms, bullied his lungs, pushed his body. He zigzagged, varied his pace, ducked and alternated his focus between where he was putting his feet and where he hoped he would be able to cross the river.
Twenty metres and there had been nothing. This is what he’d expected. If they were unlucky, someone on the other side would have spotted them as soon as they broke cover – ten metres to them, maximum. There would be calling, rousing of colleagues to the incursion as weapons were unslung – maybe another ten metres, if the runners were fast and the soldiers were slow. Firing positions being assumed, targets being sighted, sights being zeroed, safeties clicking off, fingers taking up the trigger’s slack – at most another ten metres.
Acer tensed himself, straining to hear the shot he couldn’t hope to hear if it was accurate. Nothing. Perhaps they were just slow. He risked a glance behind him and was encouraged to see Zeynep maintaining the gap but keeping up.
Acer was closing on the river. Still no shots had been fired. What were they waiting for? Their targets to get closer? To become unmissable? As Acer hammered one foot after the other into the soft ground, the thought struck him that perhaps the line he had chosen was taking them straight towards waiting loyalist troops, who could either wait until they could hit them without telescopic sights or just let them come into their waiting arms.
Acer was comforted to see a large sheet of corrugated iron spanning what was, up close, little more than a wide ditch. He was in the air leaping down onto it before he thought to consider the noise his boots would make when he landed. It was too late to do anything about it. The metallic crash was made louder by the dawn’s being empty of other noise and by the wide-open expanse of land for the noise to travel across. He swore loudly and hurried on across.
The first shot he was aware of kicked up earth on the rampart a couple of feet higher than the concrete plinth on the other side of the river. It was close enough to sprinkle Acer’s face and clothes with dirt. He threw himself down and jammed himself tightly up against the concrete lip.
Other shots began tearing the air. He twisted his body to search for Zeynep just as she was jumping down onto the corrugated iron sheet. The same loud clang thundered out across the open ground. She lost her footing on the dewy surface and sprawled for a moment. A bullet punched a hole in the metal near her head. She flinched and balled. Another round slammed into the iron next to her, sending up a shower of rusty flakes.
‘Get up and run, Zeynep,’ shouted Acer.
On all fours, she scurried across the remainder of the divide. She was nearly at the safety of the lip of the concrete Acer was sheltering under when she was thrown sideways by the impact of a bullet. Acer heard a muted cheer from the direction of the sniper.
***
37
Another round shattered the concrete next to where she lay. Acer scrambled to her, grabbed a handful of her clothing and pulled her to safety before she could be hit again. Bullets continued to thud into the earth and concrete around them. It wasn�
�t a hail indicating several shooters; it was more of a concentrated and measured repetition, suggesting only one or two snipers.
Zeynep trembled on the concrete shelf. Acer felt for the wound. His hand came away wet from under her small backpack. Almost afraid to look, he saw the liquid was clear. He rolled her unresisting form over.
He said, ‘They hit your pack, Zeynep, that’s all. Your water bottle. You’re not bleeding.’
She was breathing heavily, a combination of the sprint and the fright.
Rounds pinged and whined and thumped into and off the surfaces around them.
Acer lay prone, wondering how they could improve their pinned-down status. The radio crackled in his pack. He rolled so that he could extract it.
‘Acer?’
‘Still here.’
‘Zeynep?’
‘Shot through the water bottle. She’ll live. For now. Any ideas?’
‘We can see where they’re shooting from. Looks like just a couple of them at most. A top floor window in the white apartment block directly across from you.’
Acer risked a peek. A round chipped the concrete only inches from his face. He ducked down quickly holding his cheek. He pulled away his fingers to see the blood.
Acer said, ‘Got it.’
Tanner said, ‘Keep your heads down and get ready to move fast – and my advice would be at a forty-five degree angle to your left.’
Acer said, ‘Give us one minute to catch our breath, will you?’
‘You don’t have a minute, buddy.’
Acer turned to look at Zeynep. She had wriggled her way back up tightly against the concrete protection. She was staring horrified back at the river. Acer followed her gaze. On both plinths lay dead and twisted bodies. Acer counted five. He saw more as he swung his gaze left and right. His first thought was that this was where the snipers liked to pull the trigger. The bodies would fall out of sight and not act as a deterrent to others to try their luck at a crossing. Then he remembered a news story he’d read about regime fighters executing suspected rebels they’d arrested with single gunshots to the head and throwing them into Aleppo’s Queiq River, where they would float with the current to wash up elsewhere in the city. He had seen the Queiq referred to as the ‘river of death’.
He said, ‘Zeynep. They aren’t snipers’ victims. That’s not going to be us. ’
Her gaze was fixed and rigid and terrified. Acer grabbed her face and shook her head. ‘Snap out of it, Zeynep. Now. We have to leave quickly.’
In the periphery of his vision, Acer caught the smoky trail of a shoulder-fired rocket-launcher round snaking low over the ground from the direction of Tanner’s position. Then he heard it. He twisted to follow its path. It slammed into the top floor of the building Tanner had identified as being the snipers’ position.
Acer hoped that was the only place they had been hiding. As the explosion tore the morning apart and rubble rained down on the road in front of the building, Acer got to his feet and pulled Zeynep up by the shoulder straps. She was coming back to him and their situation. He shoved her over the lip of the concrete plinth and shouted at her to run. He went up after her.
Rounds of semi-automatic gunfire rent the air above their heads but Acer understood it was one-way traffic – Tanner, Dempsey and Reyna, along with their rebel fighter escort, laying down a magical flying carpet of covering fire.
As they ran, dodging in and out of hazards that would twist or break an ankle, Acer risked a look at the building under attack. Smoke and flames and dust billowed out of the shattered front. Shards of masonry and puffs of dust clouded the air as the dozens of rounds pummelled it.
And then they were at the deserted road, crossing it, squeezing between abandoned and destroyed vehicles and into a side street that promised shelter. Acer felt the sweat sting his eyes, the heat in his lungs, the aching of his muscles and the sense of temporary relief. He grabbed hold of Zeynep and bustled her through the open front door of a bomb-damaged building. He had Tanner’s Sig Sauer in his hand as he scanned the darkened recesses.
They crunched their way over broken glass, splintered wood and fallen masonry to the back of the room.
When he was certain they were alone, he said, ‘You OK?’
She was still breathing heavily. She nodded, covered her mouth and stifled a coughing fit. Through gasps of air, she said, ‘That was awful. The dead bodies. I thought. . .’
‘I know. Me too. Let’s focus on being here, being alive, being unharmed. I need to talk to Tanner. Keep an ear out for anyone.’
Acer took out the radio and hailed Tanner.
‘Acer?’
‘We’re over. Safe for now. Thanks, Tanner. And thank the team for us. I properly owe you for that. Sitting ducks is what we were for a minute.’
‘Long way to go, buddy. Long way to go. We’ll be here till midnight.’
‘Hope to see you before then.’
Acer turned the radio off and looked for somewhere to hide it. He settled for on top of a tall kitchen unit with one door hanging off it. He said, ‘You’d better watch where this goes in case you end up coming back on your own.’
Zeynep understood it was just a wise precaution. Acer took out his water and drank thirstily before handing the bottle across to her. She drank long and hard and handed it back. He finished it and set the empty bottle on the counter in front of him.
He took out the map and laid it on the floor because there was no other surface big enough. They knelt together to study it.
Acer opened his mouth to speak just as the sound of several pairs of running boots could be heard approaching them. Unnecessarily, he put his finger to his lips. They crouched motionless out of sight. Voices speaking loud and fast filtered in through the broken windows and open doorway. The pace of the boots slowed. The noise of a wooden door being kicked in close by made them both start. A neighbouring property. They heard the men talking, arguing. Maybe three, maybe four. The noises suggested they were searching the properties in that street. Acer wondered if there were more of them searching adjacent streets or if this was it.
The sounds grew louder and clearer as the searchers got closer. Acer half-raised the Sig Sauer. A shoot-out was not the last thing he wanted – being shot was, with capture a close second.
They heard a man stop at the entrance to their building. Acer felt him standing in the open doorway, peering into the shadows, looking at the floor for signs of recent disturbance, wondering whether it was worth his time and effort to check the place out. Acer stilled his breathing and looked at Zeynep. She jerked her chin upwards at something and there was concern in her eyes. Acer looked up. He saw the empty water bottle on the counter above him. He shared Zeynep’s concern that perhaps the man would see it too, wonder enough about it to step over and investigate. Very slowly, he reached up for it. Zeynep put her hand on his arm and shook her head. The man at the doorway called something to a colleague. The colleague answered. The man spat on the floor, turned and hurried away.
Acer and Zeynep exchanged a look of relief and exhaled together quietly. They waited until the sounds of the searchers had drifted away. And then they waited a minute longer. Acer motioned to Zeynep to stay and he crossed to the window. He could see no sign of anyone. He crunched as carefully as he could across to the open doorway. He stuck his head out. A burst of automatic gunfire tore through the brickwork above his head. He ducked back in, wiping the dust out of his eyes. Loud shouts and more gunfire filled the air. The bullets ricocheted off the walls, pitting the plasterwork with deep holes.
Acer was down and moving towards the back of the house. Zeynep snatched up the map and went after him. He barged through closed internal doors, down a long narrow passageway and through another door at the end of that. He held it for Zeynep and then slammed it shut after her. Just as he moved out from behind it, the old and sturdy-looking woodwork was shattered and splintered under a barrage of bullets.
They fled through another darkened room, scattered with the r
emnants of a domestic life left behind by people who’d gone in a hurry, or by scavengers who’d searched for things to ransack.
They came to a door next to a window that gave out onto a paved patio area strewn with broken construction material. Acer hesitated, considering whether the opposition would have had time and opportunity to get someone around to the back of the property for when they were flushed out. The sound of boots came thumping down the passageway behind them. Acer grabbed Zeynep and almost flung her against the wall and out of sight behind a dresser. He knelt on one knee, aimed the Sig Sauer at the door they’d slammed behind them and steadied himself.
It was clear from the way the soldier came through the door that he did not expect those he was pursuing to be armed. Acer fired one round into the man’s forehead. He was thrown back against the edge of the door, instantly dead. Acer stuck the Sig in his waistband, snatched up the assault rifle from where it had clattered to the floor, checked the safety was off and signalled to Zeynep to follow him.
Gingerly at first, he opened the unlocked back door. When no shots were fired, he opened it wide and darted through. He found cover behind a stone outhouse. Still no shots were fired. He was beginning to think that the man might have just stayed behind on the off chance of finding someone, not as part of a coordinated ambush. Acer signalled Zeynep to stay behind the protection of the outhouse. He handed her the Sig and pointed at the back door. His meaning was clear. Bent over, he ran to the high stone wall at the end of the small garden. Using a woodpile for a hop up, he scrambled up to look over.
A narrow stone alleyway, well worn with the passage of thousands of feet over decades, possibly centuries, ran in either direction as far as bends would allow him to see. Acer thought ‘rat-run’. To be caught in that, to be shot at in that, would not be good. But unless they wanted to risk going back out of the front of the property, they didn’t have much choice – and the recent gunfire would certainly have attracted the attention of the soldier’s colleagues.